


petite reprise

by isadorator



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Birthday Presents, F/M, Love Confessions, Luka is Oblivious, Post-Episode: s03 Silence | Silencer, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i refuse to believe otherwise unless evidence is presented to the contrary, in this house we multiship like sensible people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 11:31:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18445676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isadorator/pseuds/isadorator
Summary: A young man sits in his bedroom. It just so happens that today is this young man's birthday. Though it was eighteen years ago he was given life, it is only today he realizes something important about a young lady.This young lady is not especially shocked to hear it.





	petite reprise

**Author's Note:**

> okay, so i was struck dead by silencer (spoilers ahead of course lol), and then came back to life to write this for two reasons:
> 
> 1\. i find it HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS that, as a foil to adrien, luka did not use the word 'like' or 'love' in his confession; and  
> 2\. my beautiful girlfriend, [crispy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaphirite), (who also beta'd this) linked me a reddit post about someone making a guitar, and i knew i _had_ to use it.
> 
> the rest is history!! please enjoy :D

There are no surprise birthday parties on the Liberty. This is partially because there isn’t enough room on a houseboat to hide a party, birthday or not. The other reason is, well…

Let’s just say Luka is glad that Juleka was young enough to forget their father when Mom finally took them and left. At least _she_ still likes surprises.

But that’s in the past. Luka focuses instead on the melody he’s creating, the pick in his hand, the strings under his fingers, the electric guitar resting on his thighs. There’s warm sunlight on his face, a gentle lap of waves against the boat, and…he’s free. Blissfully, unrepentantly _free_.

“You’re going to turn into a real boy tomorrow,” says Juleka.

“A real _man_ ,” Luka shoots back, strumming loudly with a cheeky smile.

They’re both stretched out on the deck, side by side on lounge chairs. His sister laughs and nudges his leg with her foot. “Have you decided what you want to do after lycée?”

A flock of pigeons fly nosily over the Seine, and Luka catches sight of the morning glory sky when he looks up.

It reminds him of Marinette, of her eyes that show as many moods as the heavens, an ever-changing symphony of emotions.

(A lot of things remind him of Marinette these days.)

“Stick around, I guess,” he muses.

“Cool,” she says and closes her eyes as she listens to his song.

  


* * *

  


Luka has a couple of friends from school and his part-time job, and he’s still not really sure how that happened. He’s admittedly a bit of a loner.

Of the two of them, it’s Juleka who takes after their mother the most. She inherited Mom’s social butterfly tendencies, blossoming like a black spider lily as she grew, and she’s the one who dragged him into her enormous group of friends.

He remembers them adopting him like a stray puppy, all good people with the best of intentions and not minding the messes he creates with his awkwardness. They make awesome music together.

And, of course, Juleka is the one who helped him meet Marinette.

There’s no surprise that Marinette looks radiant on the night of his birthday, in a midnight blue dress she made herself. She’s there for a buffet dinner on the Liberty, along with his other friends.

It’s actually a bit overwhelming with them all in one place like this. Noisy, boisterous, and loud, everyone talking, laughing, sharing food and jokes, trying to wheedle embarrassing stories out of Juleka and Mom. He drinks in the atmosphere and conversation, like a succulent soaking up Mozart, before he slips away from the crowd and into his room for a breather.

Just a few minutes with his guitar, a little peace and tranquility, and he can head back refreshed.

His door opens, and Marinette comes in sheepishly, one hand behind her back, the other waving.

Luka smiles, switching from a soothing tempo to one that’s more upbeat, matching the skip of his heart. “Hey, Marinette.”

“H-hi, Luka!” She takes one step into his room before pausing. “Um, I’m not bothering you, am I?”

“Not at all,” says Luka. “I’m just taking a break. How are you?”

“I’m…good,” she replies, ducking her head. There’s a blush on Marinette’s face, painting her skin sunset pink, and it’s cute. It’s really cute.

(But, if he’s honest, she’s always cute, inside and out.)

“We’re still going to the karaoke lounge for dessert, right?” she asks, fidgeting.

Luka nods because that’s what Juleka told him. Her and Rose had a lot of fun planning this whole night for him.

“You seem nervous,” he says and then plays something a little softer and sweeter, for the softest and sweetest girl he knows. “Does this help?”

“Yeah…”

She sighs the word, and he closes his eyes, not quite able to fight the heat that rushes into his cheeks and tightness constricting his chest. He can hear her footsteps over his music, feel his bed dip from the weight of her body as she sits beside him. Her knee brushes his, just slightly, and one of his notes fall out of rhythm.

But she keeps sitting, and he keeps playing, feeling her sway to his song.

(Marinette is so expressive, responsive to every one of his beats and words. He can see how dedicated she is to him and their friends, taking care of them even when it seems like the whole world and her own head is roaring for her attention.)

“That’s beautiful,” she says when he lets music fade out.

Her eyes open slowly, dreamy and relaxed, and Luka thinks he likes this mood of Marinette’s the most.

“So are you,” he replies honestly, enjoying the pretty blush that blooms on her face.

She laughs nervously, tugging on one of her pigtails, before bringing out the package behind her back.

It’s big and triangular, more than half her size, expertly wrapped in striped blue paper and navy blue ribbons. He would have seen it sooner, but Marinette has that effect on him.

“What’s this?” he asks, putting his guitar to the side.

Marinette shuffles nervously, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, before offering the package to him again. “It’s just, uh, I know we’re supposed to give you your presents at the lounge, but it seems a little silly to carry something like this all the way there and back…”

Luka nods, conceding the point, and gently takes the gift from her hand. There’s a familiar weight to it, and he already suspects what it might be.

“I appreciate that, Marinette,” he says.

Unravelling the ribbon, he’s not surprised to see the head and tuning pins of a guitar sticking out. What surprises him is the guitar itself.

It’s acoustic, which isn’t something he’s played since he was a kid, and it’s completely, utterly unique. He runs his hands down the electric blue neck, admiring the soundboard covered with Marinette’s drawings and calligraphy. Kitty Section is the theme of the design, which includes elements he hasn’t seen anywhere but in her sketchbook.

Behind the neck, where the fingerboard meets the soundboard, is Marinette’s signature.

Heart lodged in his throat, he looks up at her, wide-eyed and speechless.

“Sorry, I had to use a kit to assemble it,” says Marinette, wincing like that’s a _bad_ thing. Like it isn’t incredible enough that she made this guitar with her own two hands. “I didn’t have time to learn how to curve the wood or forge the tuning keys or stuff like that, but I will next time!”

She clenches her fists, challenge sparking in her eyes, and he can hear her song in his head rising into a crescendo, magnificent and joyous.

“This is already amazing,” Luka tells her with a dry mouth. Turning away from her brilliance, he noodles with the guitar, making sure it’s in tune, before moving it to the floor. He pats his lap. “Can you sit here for a minute?”

Marinette shoots up from his bed, bright red and stammering, and Luka realizes his thoughtless mistake a moment too late. She’s not Juleka, and she’s not six years old, and _why_ does he always turn everything awkward?

“Ah, sorry, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable—” he starts, but Marinette interrupts him.

“IT’S FINE,” she says, voice strained.

Moving robotically, she walks toward him, turns around, and promptly sits on his lap.

Well.

(Luka doesn’t know what he expected to happen, but it’s not Marinette’s warm weight, her knees slotting over his, her shoulders trembling with the effort to keep them straight.

She’s so brave in the face of her fears that it’s difficult to keep his own shivers at bay.)

Slowly, he picks up her guitar, settling it on her lap. He takes one of her delicate hands and positions them on the frets, his fingers guiding hers. He does the same with the other, placing his pick in her hand and moving it to rest on the G string.

“As the maker, you should be the first to play this guitar,” he murmurs in her ear. With his hand over hers, he slowly strums the strings, playing the notes in a scale. “Give it a try.”

He can see her swallow as he lets go of her, resting his hands at his sides. She strums the way he did, then faster, then she picks at the individual strings, composing an aimless melody that longs to be understood.

Then Marinette stops, leaning her back against his chest, surprising Luka again. He wonders if she can feel how fast his heart is drumming.

“I’m not very good at this,” she says, glumly, and Luka chuckles.

“You’re wonderful already,” he tells her. Resting his chin on her head, he gives in to the urge to cuddle and wraps his arms loosely around her waist. She smells like she put on too much perfume: sharp, floral, and clean. “Thank you for the gift, Marinette. I love it.”

( _I love you_.)

Oh.

He almost doesn’t hear Marinette’s sigh, distracted by this most surprising and unsurprising thought. She starts playing again, more confident but still chaotic, and it draws Luka back into the present, even as the revelation of _I love you, I love you, I love you, Marinette_ echoes louder in his mind.

  


* * *

  


They untangle after a few minutes, wary of anyone interrupting their private moment, and it’s not long after that the rest of party gathers up and leaves for the karaoke lounge.

The remainder of the night passes in a wild cacophony of off-key singing and enthusiastic cheering. It’s the weekend, so they take their time to have as much fun as they please, celebrating like there’s no tomorrow.

But there’s always a tomorrow, with this one fast approaching, and most of their parents want them home before it arrives. The party breaks up, his friends splitting off into the night. Luka waves Juleka off as she takes a taxi with Rose to her girlfriend’s place, then turns to Marinette, the last person left.

“M-my place isn’t far. I can walk,” she says, looking away with flushed cheeks.

The streetlight illuminates her hair like a halo, a tiny sunrise at midnight, and he doesn’t want to put a coda on this evening with her yet. He likes being with her.

He likes _her_. Luka’s liked Marinette for what feels like an eternity, for so long he’s almost forgotten what life without her melody is like.

(He loves her.)

“Can I walk with you?” he asks, hopeful.

He gaze lands on him, something warm breaking through her fatigue, and she nods, smiling. Luka smiles back with the same warmth, feeling soothed and breathless at once.

He hefts his sports bag full of presents over his shoulder, and they fall into step together, a comfortable silence settling between them as they pass darkened shop fronts and rowdy bars. There aren’t many people still out, but the sky is almost cloudless, the moon is a shining sliver, and the Eiffel Tower is still lit for the night. It’s an unforgettable sight.

(But not as much as Marinette, shadowed and relaxed.)

Luka sees her shuddering as they walk, her hands rubbing over her upper arms.

“Are you cold?” he asks, already halfway into taking off his zippered hoodie.

Marinette shakes her head and hands both. “Nononono, I’m okay, Luka! Don’t worry!”

It makes him frown, just slightly.

“How can I not?” asks Luka.

She doesn’t seem to have an answer for that.

It takes a bit of manoeuvering, but he eventually drops his jacket over her shoulders. She pulls it on sheepishly, and it’s adorably too big for her. The hem hangs to mid-thigh, the sleeves ending at her knuckles.

“It looks good on you,” he tells her.

(Now that Luka’s paying attention, he realizes what he says to Marinette is a little too sincere, a little too intense. Like he’s offering her his vulnerable, yearning heart every time he speaks.

But he doesn’t want to stop.)

He catches her glancing at him, and she hurriedly looks away, biting her lip, before blurting out, “I-it looks good on you too!!”

Luka's smile grows fond, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. She squeaks a little as he pulls her close, her side meeting his.

“Thanks,” he says.

It’s hard to stay calm when her arm wraps around his waist in return.

Her house is disappointingly close because, just a few minutes after they start huddling together, it comes into view.

“Are you okay getting home?” she asks when they stop in front of her door.

“I’ll be fine,” Luka assures her as they pull apart.

(He already misses her warmth.)

“Well. I—I hope you had a good time,” says Marinette, looking up at him.

There are stars in her eyes, Luka thinks dreamily, and she suddenly leans forward, pulling him down by his neck and tiptoeing to press a kiss to his cheek. Her touch is tender, as burning and brief as it was. Marinette smiles at him as he stares.

“Happy birthday, Luka,” she says, breathless and giddy, and Luka falls in love all over again.

Then she turns to leave.

( _Please stay_.)

“Wait!”

Marinette looks back at him, face red and smile shy. “Yes?”

Luka doesn’t… _didn’t_ like surprises. He’s surprising himself now with the intensity of his emotions.

He wants to tell her how he feels. He wants her to know that, even if the one she likes doesn’t reciprocate her feelings, someone loves her. _Luka_ loves her.

It feels a little selfish to tell her now, on his birthday, but he just wants her to know.

“I…” Trailing off, he stuffs his hands into his pockets, then gathers up the courage to look her in the eyes. He needs to be clear. “I wish I could have said this sooner…but you are the most extraordinary girl I’ve ever met. You’re the song that always leaves me happy when I hear it. I love you, Marinette.”

He can see how deeply she blushes, soft lips parting as her eyes go wide with shock. Then she shakes her head, palms shooting up to cover her cheeks.

“…Sorry if that surprised you,” says Luka.

(Even if Marinette doesn’t feel the same…he trusts her with his heart. He knows she won’t be cruel or throw away their friendship. He’s prepared for what she’ll say.)

“It…didn’t?” Marinette squeaks. “U-um, thank you, Luka, b-but didn’t you already confess before?”

(He’s not prepared.)

“What?”

Somehow, her blush gets worse. “When you were an akuma—I-I mean, the show after! You said all those beautiful things. Like I was the song in your head…w-wasn’t that a love confession?”

Luka blinks at her, trying to recall that day a few months ago.

“It wasn’t,” he replies, confused. “I just wanted to tell you how I felt about you.”

Then the meaning of his own words click in his head. He lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“I see now,” chuckles Luka, a parade of heartfelt compliments marching through his head. “You saw right through me. Before I even realized what I felt…” His heart is full to bursting, and he feels dizzy with how much he loves her. “You really are incredible, Marinette.”

She looks like she’s about to faint. “Y-y-y-y-you didn’t—that wasn’t— _oh my god_.”

Her breathing is on the edge of hyperventilation, so he takes her hands in his, lacing their fingers together.

“I meant what I said back then, as much as I do now,” he tells her, affection in every word, and he bends down to kiss her forehead, wrinkled with anxiety. “I love you, and I want to be with you.”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” she says again, quieter this time, and buries her face in his chest.

He lets her have all the time she needs to gather herself. Slowly, the tightly wound energy in her body leeches out. Finally calm, Marinette sighs and peeks up at Luka smiling down at her.

“You’re incredible too,” she mutters, squeezing his hands. “I always feel better when I’m with you. Like I can be myself. You’re just so…” Marinette closes her eyes, preparing herself before pulling away slightly, staring up at him with a determination that catches his breath. “I love you too, Luka.”

Somehow, he doesn’t expect that. Or the kiss she pulls him into, one that leaves his lips tingling and his heart singing with joy.

(But, then again, he’s starting to love surprises as much as he loves her.)

**Author's Note:**

> my references for this ridiculously fluffy fic:
> 
> • [National Wrapping Day - How to Wrap a Guitar](https://youtu.be/i6rOuyRCAEk)  
> • [Basic anatomy of an acoustic guitar](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acoustic_guitar#/media/File:Acoustic_Guitar_Anatomy.jpg)  
> • [The making of my first homemade guitar](https://www.reddit.com/r/DIY/comments/bafp1y/the_making_of_my_first_homemade_guitar/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app)  
> • [ 50 Musical Terms Used in Nonmusical Senses](https://www.dailywritingtips.com/50-musical-terms-used-in-nonmusical-senses/)  
> • [Ikaw - L. Ocampo (arr. Jose Valdez) Solo Classical Guitar](https://youtu.be/9BLihBd0bTs) (recommended as mood music by crispy ♥)  
> • let me tell you about [homestuck](https://www.homestuck.com/story)


End file.
